Will you forgive me if I said I tried to forget you? I drowned my sorrows in alcohol and tears, and threw caution to the wind. I said yes to the first guy who asked me out.

And I liked him. I did. He had a nice smile and a nice body. But it was awkward, and it didn't feel right. From the start, I knew he wasn't right. He smoked too much, drank too much, and swore too much. It felt like something was missing, the whole time we talked and watched the water and he smoked cigarette after cigarette. I didn't know how to behave around him like the comfortable way I do around you. The smell of cigarette smoke embedded deep into my clothes and hair, reminding me of him even when I didn't want it to. He sent me home. We said goodbye. The moment he was gone, I cried.

He stained the comfortable places I'd come to call home with his presence. The path home, the lift lobby, even the places I once walked hand in hand with you. For a long time, I couldn't walk home without thinking about him and a feeling a fresh wave of sadness.

I asked myself over and over again, what am I doing? I guess I just wanted to placate my mother by netting the first guy I could get my hands on. I let him touch me, tease me, hold my hand, kiss my neck. I told myself to move on, to let go. And I think I managed to fool myself into thinking that I had. So when he started to lose interest in me, I was upset, and disappointed, and mostly angry at myself for letting it happen even though I knew it would. For starting something where I couldn't see the end. I thought I liked him, and now, a month later, I realised that I didn't. I pretended that his touch was your touch. During the time we spent together, I wanted nothing more than for you to be there with me. In the end, it all came down to my delusions and wishful thinking. In the end, I still missed you dearly. In everything that we did together in that month, I was comparing it to you.

What am I supposed to do? I miss you.